The wind in Aeloria carried an unusual kind of coldness that night—sharp, silent, and strangely expectant. Seren felt it immediately the moment she stepped out of the healer's hut. Her legs were still weak, her heartbeat still unsteady from the visions she experienced in the Celestine Pool. Part of her understood what she had seen, but a greater part of her was frightened.
Visions weren't normal for her. Visions belonged to priestesses, seers, and enchanted beings touched by prophecy.
She was just… Seren.
Ordinary, even if blessed with beauty she never asked for. Wanted by many, though she never wanted the attention. A mystery even to herself.
But that vision of Elyon—his face marked with sorrow, with blood on his hands, with light in his eyes—felt too real to ignore.
"Why… why did I see him like that?" she whispered to the empty air.
She pulled her cloak tighter and started walking through the quiet forest path, trying to clear her head. Every rustle of leaves made her feel as if the world was watching her. As if destiny itself had hands that were gently but firmly pushing her toward something she didn't yet understand.
Elyon.
His name was a soft ache inside her chest.
She remembered how he held her gently at the riverbank. How he touched her cheek as if she were made of fragile starlight. How his voice trembled with worry each time he spoke her name.
She remembered how she ran from him.
She hated remembering that part. Hated how she pushed him away when he was the one person who saw her, not her beauty, not her body—not the thing everyone else desired.
He saw her soul.
And she ran.
---
Seren stopped walking.
The path looked strangely different tonight. The trees were glowing faintly, their bark shimmering with soft silver light. Like moonlight trapped inside wood.
"Is this… normal?" she whispered.
A soft voice answered.
"No, my child."
Seren gasped and spun around.
Behind her stood an old woman with hair white as winter and eyes so bright they looked like reflections of stars. Her robes flowed like mist, and her feet didn't quite touch the ground.
Seren knew who she was even before she spoke the next words.
"I am Lysandra, the Star-Witch of Aeloria."
Seren froze.
The Star-Witch was a myth. A legend. A name mothers whispered in cautionary tales, a guardian of fate, a seer of past and future—and someone said to appear only when destiny itself was shifting.
"Why… why are you here?" Seren asked, voice trembling.
Lysandra smiled gently, the kind of smile that carried centuries of sorrow and kindness.
"To guide you."
"Guide me? But I'm not—"
"Special?" Lysandra finished.
"Important? Chosen?"
Seren swallowed. "Yes."
The witch stepped closer, her presence warm despite the cold. "My child, destiny does not choose the loudest, the strongest, or the proudest. It chooses the ones whose hearts are capable of breaking and still loving, again and again."
Seren felt her breath catch.
Her throat tightened painfully.
"I don't understand…"
"You will. But first, you must know this: the boy you run from carries a fate bound tightly with yours."
Seren stiffened.
Elyon.
Again, his name echoed in her mind like the softest, deepest drumbeat.
"You've seen it, haven't you?" Lysandra asked. "A vision of him?"
Seren nodded slowly.
"Then you already know the truth."
"I don't," Seren whispered. "I only saw him in pain. I saw him fighting something I couldn't recognize. I saw blood… I saw despair…"
"And you felt fear," Lysandra said. "Not for yourself, but for him."
Seren's eyes widened. "Yes…"
"That is the beginning," the witch whispered. "Love begins where fear for oneself ends… and fear for another begins."
Seren's heart twisted painfully. "No. I don't— I'm not—"
"You care for him, Seren."
"Stop," Seren whispered.
"You run because you care."
"Please…"
"You run because it hurts to feel something so deep."
Seren pressed her hands to her chest, as if she could hold the emotion caged inside. "I can't… I don't want to—"
"Because love demands vulnerability," Lysandra murmured.
"And you fear what happens when you let someone in."
Seren's vision blurred with tears.
She did fear that.
She feared being seen. Truly seen.
Not admired, not desired.
Known.
Known in a way that made her heart tremble and her soul bare.
Lysandra's hand touched her cheek gently. "My child, the world may praise your beauty… but the boy waits because of your soul."
Seren felt tears fall.
Yes.
She knew that.
That was exactly what terrified her.
"What must I do?" she whispered.
Lysandra smiled softly and looked upward.
"The stars have drawn him toward you again. He searches for you now."
Seren gasped. "Elyon… is here?"
"Running through the night, calling your name, seeking you despite the wounds in his heart."
Seren's breath broke.
"Go to him."
"I… I'm scared."
"You are allowed to be," the witch whispered.
"But go anyway."
Seren shook, every part of her trembling with conflict.
"I can't… what if he hates me for running? What if I hurt him again? What if I—"
Lysandra touched her lips gently. "Love is not built on fear of hurting someone. It is built on choosing them again, and again, and again."
Seren stared at the ground, tears dripping onto the glowing earth.
"I don't know if I deserve him," she whispered.
The Star-Witch smiled sadly.
"No one deserves love. That is what makes it sacred."
A glowing silver butterfly landed on Seren's shoulder.
Lysandra stepped back.
"When the stars drift closer," she said, "follow where your heart calls you. Fate has been patient, but not even destiny waits forever."
Seren looked up.
"Go." Lysandra pointed toward the deeper forest.
"Before the boy's heart breaks beyond repair."
Seren did not hesitate this time.
She ran.
Through the glowing trees.
Through the silver air.
Through the place where fear transformed into something softer… something brighter.
Into the night where Elyon was searching for her.
And for the first time…
Seren ran toward him.
Not away.
---